


Those Who Have Ears to Hear

by flibbertygigget



Series: The Other 51 [24]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Deaf Character, M/M, Mastrabation, Non-Canon Age Gap, One-Sided Relationship, Outdated Racial Language, The Burr Conspiracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:39:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6926716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton is a nineteen-year-old deaf boy living in Natchez, just trying to get by and teach himself to read and write. He doesn't expect for a mysterious man to come to the inn he works in and change his life forever.</p><p>Or</p><p>Aaron Burr, former Vice President of the United States, finds his plans to acquire territory from Spain complicated by the presence of a mysterious boy who seems far too fascinated by him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Who Have Ears to Hear

**Author's Note:**

> This is vaguely based on Eudora Welty's short story [ "First Love"](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B69phGEA951OMVhQLV9XLWRpVEF3NkFuOGxpRnFyeDZIdk4w/view?usp=sharing). If you thought that that porny "biography" of Burr was weird...

It isn't as though Alexander Hamilton leads a fascinating life.

Most days are the same. He wakes up in the same back room that the owners of the inn never give to visitors, spends the day scraping mud from their shoes and polishing them until they shine, avoiding any curious looks so as to discourage any attempt at conversation, and then he uses his little stub of candle to stay awake far into the night.

His hand is still slow and shaky over the sheets of coarse brown paper that packages come in, and he knows that his words are few and weak, but they are  _there_. If he were to go up to someone and show them the paper, they would be able to understand him. In a way, it is even better than if he had a voice. He has seen how men will get loose-lipped and sloppy with liquor or red-faced and wide-mouthed with anger. Spoken words are uncertain, emotional things, but written words... They are simply there. They are not subject to what the body gives away. And, though his progress is haphazard and slow, Alexander is determined to master them. He will not remain silent forever. Even if he cannot make himself heard with his voice, he will create himself a voice through his piece of charcoal snatched from the fire.

The night that he meets Aaron Burr, he does not expect to come to love him.

It is an exciting day for Alexander. Not only did he get the remains of a wedding supper (a rare treat), he also procured a new book from a guest who left it behind. Most of his material is either newspapers, which do not contain many new words besides names and places, or books that he has read a million times. To find a new book, with new words to learn to understand and new stories to devour, is an occasion that will justify him staying up all night, jotting down unknown words on the paper with the charcoal to study later, searching the book for anything that will help him in his quest for deliverance from the life he lives. He stops up short when, instead of the cold grate and empty chairs, there are two men sitting there in front of a roaring fire. They turn to look at Alexander, startled.

Alexander shifts awkwardly. One of them is a short, prissy-looking fellow that is sweating even though the fire in the grate is barely enough to stave off the late autumn chill. The other... The other man is immediately striking, and Alexander can't stop staring at him. He has a high forehead, dark hair shaved flush to his head, and a wry smile that slowly slips away as Alexander doesn't respond to the soundless movements of his mouth. But the most intense thing about him is his eyes. They are dark, wary, unfathomable, but Alexander can see in their depths a spark that he can tell is warm and kind. He wants to do whatever he can to make that spark brighter, to bring warmth to the wary eyes of this stranger.

The men are looking at each other, conversing while taking quick glances at Alexander. Alexander wishes that he could open his mouth and tell them that he is deaf, not blind; he can see how they look at him, as though he is a threat. Then it occurs to him... There is nothing in his way, nothing preventing him to getting out his stash of paper and charcoal and  _making_ them understand. He hurries into the back of the room to his nest of cast-off blankets and slides his fingers under the loose floorboard. When he looks up, the prissy man is trying to race towards him, hand raised to beat him back, but the other man is holding him back with only a warning arm across his chest. His deep eyes look at Alexander with solemn curiosity as Alexander carefully writes on the paper.

"Who are you" he writes. The letters are large, wasting much of the paper, but he wants to be sure that the man can read it. He hands it to the man, who hesitates before taking it back towards the fire. For a moment Alexander is afraid that he'll toss it into the flames, but instead he places it on the crate the two men had been using as a table and dips his quill in ink.

"My name is Aaron Burr," he writes, his handwriting flowing and smooth and more perfect than anything that Alexander has ever seen. "May I inquire as to your name?" Alexander eagerly snatches back the paper, writing faster and more sloppily this time.

"Alexander Hamilton" He hesitates a moment. "I am at your  ~~servis~~ service Sir" Alexander sees Aaron Burr's lips move as he reads the line, and he feels his stomach squirm happily. His name has been said aloud, he is certain of it, and it is only then that he realizes what that means. Someone else knows his name. He is no longer a ghost.

"Why are you unable to speak, Mr. Hamilton?" That question is harder to answer, since Alexander is uncertain of the right words to put onto the paper.

"I cannot listen" Aaron Burr just looks confused, and Alexander angrily scratches out the words. "My ears not work" Aaron Burr nods, understanding. His eyes are less wary, filling with warm sympathy even though the other man still looks at Alexander suspiciously, mouth flapping at Aaron Burr. Aaron Burr nods at him and begins to write again.

"How did you learn to write? Surely it must be nearly impossible for someone with you condition." Alexander frowns over the last word. It is unfamiliar, but he doesn't want to tell that to Aaron Burr, not when he's willing to talk to him.

"I learn. I have books. I look and learn words." Aaron Burr's mouth hangs open and his eyes widen slightly when he reads Alexander's words.

"That is extremely impressive. It must have been difficult to learn." Alexander nods, pride unfolding inside him like a flower. "How much do you know?" The pride instantly dissipates.

"I know a ~~small~~ little. I," Alexander hesitates, but then he forges ahead, "want to learn."

"Why?" Aaron Burr scribbles down hastily. Alexander smiles. He knows the answer to this question.

"I want people to hear me." Aaron Burr's free hand reaches out to awkwardly pat Alexander on the shoulder as he writes once more.

"I can help you, if you wish to have help." Alexander is nodding before the words are even done.

* * *

 

Aaron Burr hands Alexander a pamphlet. It isn't thick, but Alexander can tell from the way that it seemed well-read that it is important. It's title is "The Declaration of Independance of the United States of America."

"What is it" Aaron Burr raises an eyebrow, and Alexander hastily adds a question mark.

"It is a document by Thomas Jefferson. It is a very important work." Alexander nods and begins to look at the words. He reads slowly, paying attention to the underlined phrases and notes in the margins in Aaron Burr's flowing hand. There is one phrase that sticks out, triple-underlined in thick, bold strokes.

"All men are created equal" Alexander writes. He does not know then the true extent of what that phrase means.

"Yes, I thought of you when I saw that phrase again," Aaron Burr writes. "Do you understand it?" Alexander hesitates. "I will explain it to you, is that agreeable?" Alexander nods eagerly. "That phrase, 'all men are created equal,' means that everyone is worth the same. You are as important to the world as the President of the United States."

"What is a president?" Alexander asks, hand slowly tracing out the unfamiliar word. Aaron Burr looks surprised for a moment.

"I had forgotten that you" He scratches out the words. "I'm sorry. The President is in charge of the whole country. He is a bit like a king, but with less power, and he is chosen by the people."

"I didn't get to choose him."

"Perhaps you will one day, when you are 21 years old. That is the age that you must be to vote."

"How do you vote?"

"Usually you go to a place, a city hall or some such place, and then you write on a slip of paper who you would like to be in charge. You can do this for other positions as well."

"Is my vote as big as someone who can hear?" Aaron Burr looks sad, and Alexander feels guilty. He didn't mean to hurt him. He just wanted to understand.

"The country says that," Aaron Burr points to that phrase again, "all men are created equal, but in practice it is not very true. In some places you can only vote if you own land. Women cannot vote, nor can negros. I am afraid that, should your condition be known, they would not see your vote as worth counting."

"Why?"

"They wouldn't think that you would be able to understand."

"But I can understand. You can understand me, and I can understand you. I can read newspapers and find what the president says about things."

"I know, but that will not change the fact that you cannot hear." Alexander looks at Aaron Burr, tears in his eyes, and Aaron Burr's face softens. "Don't worry. Even if you cannot-" Alexander snatches the quill from Aaron Burr's hand.

"I can. I will make them hear me. I will learn about the president and the way the government works, and then I will make them listen to me about it." Aaron Burr looks at him as though he is seeing something precious for the first time, and Alexander feels his face grow hot. "Sorry." Aaron Burr takes the quill back slowly, as though reluctant to take it away from Alexander.

"I will bring you the tools that you will need, if you will take them. I can get you quills and ink, proper paper, and the books that you will need to understand the government we have. That is, if you want my help." Alexander surprises Aaron Burr with a crushing hug. After a moment, Aaron Burr hugs him back. Alexander can feel the vibrations of Aaron Burr's laughter in his chest.

* * *

 

Aaron Burr delivers on his promise, and Alexander can hardly believe the bounty that he suddenly has. Not only books and pamphlets to learn from (and he is dying to get into "Common Sense" and "The Constitution" and  _The Federalist Papers_ ), but the tools that he needs to make himself heard. And he will be heard, he is determined. He will build himself a voice out of paper and ink.

As Aaron Burr and the other man (Harman Blennerhassett, Alexander has learned) talk in front of the fire that is perpetually kept roaring to stave off the winter chill, Alexander reads and writes frantically. He wants to finish his first piece before Aaron Burr leaves, and he doesn't know when that will be.

Finally it is finished, or so he believes. When Aaron Burr sees it, he writes at the bottom "Your ideas are excellent, but your grammar will cause them to not take you seriously." So Alexander is back to the drawing board, picking bits and pieces of the essay that work, throwing away any sentence that would not look right in a newspaper or a pamphlet. It takes two more tries, but finally Aaron Burr is satisfied, and thus so is Alexander.

The piece is called "On the Dangers of a Limited Democracy." It takes him only a few days to find a newspaper willing to publish it under the pen name of Philomel.

"Lavinia," Aaron Burr writes to him the day Alexander tells him the news. "Is that after the character from Ovid?" Alexander nods.

"I may be unable to speak with my mouth, but so long as I have a pen, I will not be kept silent."

"You seem to take a very," Aaron Burr hesitates, "unusual approach to the issue of democracy. Most of the first men of the nation take the view that unlimited democracy is an evil."

"The Roman Empire didn't fall because it gave too much freedom. It fell because the situation became so terrible that a dictator seemed better than a farce of a Senate elected by blood and not by merit or the people at all. Perhaps I would agree with the important men if it was not obvious to me that there is nothing to fear if people are educated."

"There are many who cannot read."

"I taught myself. There is no reason why others cannot learn." Aaron Burr's mouth opened in what Alexander was sure was a laugh.

"Yes, but I am certain that you are a genius. Not everyone can teach themselves to read, much less come to rational political opinions as you have. In this case, you are an exception rather than the rule."

"Still, I don't think democracy should be restricted." Alexander pauses, trying to find the right words. "If genius, as you call it, can be in me, someone who will probably never be able to vote, who is to say that this same genius cannot reside in a negro or a woman. Everyone should have to right to participate in democracy should they so choose. That is why I love this government. It gives the possibility of true democracy."

"Not everyone can have your perspective." Alexander smirks.

"That is why I must write. They'll come around." Aaron Burr's mouth falls open in a laugh again, and Alexander thinks that it is the most beautiful sight he has ever seen.

* * *

 

Alexander has never felt the need to explore the more crude parts of his anatomy.

Before Aaron Burr, he had barely lived. He realizes this now, realizes how having someone to converse with, to point out his errors and help him understand the world, is something that cannot be undervalued. Before, he was but a shadow, thoughts barely forming because of lack of words. Now his mind is full of them, yet somehow, despite his multitude of new knowledge, he cannot come up with the right words to describe the feeling that slowly grows whenever he sees Aaron Burr.

Friend is too soft a word. Aaron Burr is fire raging through his veins, searing away the imperfections until he is able to think clearly, so much more clearly than before. But no, there is more, something beyond the simple give and take that he is used to. Give work, get food. But he has given nothing, nothing at all, and yet Aaron Burr has.

"I love Aaron Burr." The words he writes on the paper are dark and clear and confident in a way he cannot be. He cannot be sure if this is real or if somehow he is tricking himself into loving the first person to bother trying to speak to him. "I love Aaron Burr." The words slip from his pen easily, too easily. It is not until he's done that he realizes that he's wasted a whole precious sheet of paper on one sentence, written over and over again.

Alexander is surprised to find himself hard when he is done. He had always dismissed the feeling before easily enough, but he cannot control himself now. He never can when it comes to Aaron Burr. Alexander reaches down and takes himself in hand, stroking gently up and down. At first it does little, but then he thinks about Aaron Burr's hands on his dick, stroking, sliding, faster and faster until-

Alexander comes all over the still-wet ink, a slick signature flashing through his mind.

* * *

 In all the time that he has been teaching him, Aaron Burr has never mentioned what he was Harman Blennerhassett talk about through the night.

Alexander knows that, strictly speaking, it is none of his business, but he is curious. He is consumed by the need to know everything about Aaron Burr, and a logical first step would be to find out why he ever came to Natchez in the first place. It is a frontier place, not even large enough to be called a village, and there is no reason for someone like Aaron Burr to want to stay there for any length of time. Alexander is sure that the answer is in the papers that they pour over.

One morning, when both of the men are downstairs taking breakfast, Alexander sifts through the papers that are scattered carelessly on the box that they use as a table.

The first thing he sees is a map of the West, of all the territory that has been explored, with the unknown parts giant blank fields. Alexander sets it aside and looks at the documents and letters that were buried beneath it.

He feels sick as he reads what Aaron Burr plans.

It is treason, or at the very least it is illegal. They plan to take Mexico and maybe even the Louisiana Territory for themselves. Alexander has only the vaguest idea of what those places mean, but he knows that they are big and he knows the law. He knows his duty well.

Part of Alexander wants to confront Aaron Burr, to demand answers from him. Part of him is certain that there is some explanation besides the obvious one that is laid out in neat penmanship on the pieces of paper. There has to be. After all, it was Aaron Burr who taught him about the government that he lives under, who taught him to love the flawed creature and seek to perfect it. It makes no sense that the same man who taught him all that could also be planning to betray the thing he loves.

But, no, Alexander isn't foolish enough to confront Aaron Burr. He knows, logically, that he will take any explanation that Aaron Burr gives him without question. He cannot risk it. He has to do his duty.

It is with a heavy heart that he sneaks out of the building late that night.

* * *

Alexander reads over the sheet of paper (paper Aaron Burr provided to him, paper that he is now using to betray his first friend) that contains his plea.

"Dear Sir, I am unable to speak, but I have something important to tell you. Follow me, and I will lead you to evidence that will prove two men, at least, guilty of treason against the United States. Your obedient servant, A. Hamilton"

It is perfect, he is certain of it. Aaron Burr taught him the rules of writing well. It feels wrong to turn all of his lessons against his teacher, but he has to do it. He has to serve his country, at least in this small way. If he doesn't, how can he ever hope to be allowed to participate fully in it?

He gives the note to James Wilkinson, a General in the Army. He leads him to the evidence. When Aaron Burr returns, he watches him get taken away, mouth moving quickly and eyes bright with panic, and tries not to feel guilty.

He did what he had to do. He was loyal to his country above all. And, if no one ever listens to him again, if he is forced into silence by others' indifference, well...

It was worth it. It had to be. He would be consumed by regret otherwise.

 


End file.
